Resolution (Mason Family 5)

But what if Dara thinks I’m interested in Eliza? What if she thinks I keep Eliza at arm’s length because I’m attracted to her?

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. And the more it makes sense, the less suffocated I feel about accompanying Dara to Holt’s wedding.

I collapse in my chair. Relief comes in small waves. If Dara thinks I’m into Eliza, then maybe this won’t be as bad as I fear.

I need to think about it more, but this is a start.

My cell phone rings, and I look down to see Boone’s name flashing on the screen.

“What?” I ask in lieu of a formal greeting.

“We are brothers, after all.”

I sigh, the sound filled with exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m proud of you, Wade. I really am.”

“Boone, I don’t have time for your bullshit today.”

“Imagine my surprise when I heard from a little birdie that you have a smokin’ hot date to Holt’s wedding. I almost couldn’t believe it. But, do you know something? I’ve always suspected that you were a pimp beneath those dorky glasses—”

I hang up the phone.

Then I look at the ceiling and wish for the day to end too.

SEVENTEEN

DARA

“If you don’t buy that dress, you’re out of your mind.” Rusti shrugs, slurping her iced coffee. “It’s absolute perfection.”

I spin in a slow circle, watching my reflection in the changing room mirrors to get the full effect.

The dress fits me like a glove. The champagne color offers a rosy hue to my skin. I can move and breathe easily in the cotton and polyester blend fabric. Somehow the band at the waist gives me a deep curve while holding everything in place.

It’s basically magic.

And it makes me feel magical.

“You can pull the sleeves up for the wedding and cover your shoulders,” Rusti says. “And then you can do a little off-the-shoulder, sexier vibe for the reception. It’s really two looks in one.”

“What shoes do I wear with this?” I turn side to side, wondering if the slit is too high. “Heels, of course, but what color?”

“Something nude. Oh! What about that pair you wore when we went to that comedy show in Atlanta last year? I think there’s a strap at the ankle and one over the toe? Maybe?”

The longer I wear the dress, the more excitement begins to spread through my body.

“Those would work,” I say.

“No. Those would be perfect.”

I smile. “Okay. I think this one is it.”

“That is definitely it. You’re going to be Catnip’s catnip Saturday night.”

I bite my lip and try to keep a level head.

Holt’s invitation was a gift that I didn’t know I needed. Weddings, parties, holiday dinners—I used to do all of that. I used to love having a big weekend celebrating someone or something because my natural inclination is to stay home and work. Getting dressed up and letting my proverbial hair down was something I would look forward to.

But that hasn’t been the case lately with the grief and fear of the last year and I’d forgotten that.

So, the fact that I’m genuinely excited for the weekend makes sense. But making sense of the buzz in my body over spending an afternoon with Wade is a little more difficult … and something I didn’t really expect.

I mull over the situation and try to justify it while Rusti slurps the rest of her coffee.

It’s been a long time since I was excited to see a man, really. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is about Wade that makes me forget the myriad of things in my life that usually takes up most of my brain space. But it’s a fact that when we’re together, I feel lighter. Funnier. More confident.

And I like that. I like that me.

“Get dressed so we can get some lunch,” Rusti says. “This iced coffee is all I’ve had today.”

“Okay.” I return to my fitting room and lock myself in. After a final glance at my reflection, I slip off the dress. “Thank you for coming to help me pick something out.”

The toe of Rusti’s Doc Marten boot pokes under the door.

“You couldn’t have stopped me if you wanted to,” she says. “You have that thread of self-sabotage that probably would’ve had you picking the black dress with the lace overlay.”

I did like that dress.

“I do not self-sabotage,” I say, laughing at how well Rusti knows me.

“Not always. Just sometimes.” Her boot moves back and forth. “Want to get foot-long hot dogs from the cart guy outside the shoe store?”

“Of course.”

I get myself sorted and the dress back on the hanger. Rusti is waiting for me when I open the door.

“What?” I ask, raising a brow.

Her head is cocked to the side. She nibbles the end of her straw as she watches me with a curious yet contented look.